99 Problems and BitTorrent Is Every Single One
by lespetitesmorts
Summary: Some asshole has been using Beca's Wi-Fi without permission and seeding copyrighted books that her Internet provider is blaming her for. Bechloe AU.


Musetta's waltz poured out of Beca's cell phone which was sitting beside her on the desk. She had her arms on the desk, and her head on her arms. She was working very hard to keep her breathing calm and deep, as the song started to fade.

"I swear to God," she muttered, "if I have to listen to one more muzak rendition of 'Calcutta' by Lawrence Welk…"

Thankfully, the world was spared her empty and bitter threat as some helpless representative picked up the call.

"Hello, thank you for waiting, how can I help you today?"

Beca sat up a bit and tried for one more deep breath. "I'm very sorry, I know it's not your fault, but I am very frustrated and that might become super obvious real fast."

The customer service rep audibly swallowed. "I'm sorry to hear that, but thank you for your warning. My name's Denise, how can I help you?"

"Denise, my name is Beca, with one 'C,' Mitchell, with two 'L's, customer ID number 503871-987. This will be my fifth call to your company in as many days. I have received no less than six warnings of possible copyright infringement on my wireless Internet." Beca paused, feeling herself get worked up all over again.

"I understand, Ms. Mitchell, I have information here about the possible infringements, but I highly recommend uninstalling BitTorrent if that's the program you use, and this should all clear itself up," Denise said, clearly trying to moderate the level between helpful, stern, and understanding.

"No! You don't understand! I produce music, okay, so I buy all of my music. I've never installed BitTorrent or whatever else people use these days for that stuff, and I'd never even heard of _Goldman's Cecil Medicine_ and I thought _Gray's Anatomy_ was in reference to a show I've never watched, but if I wanted to, I could, legally, because I have Netflix!"

Beca's blood pressure was built all the way up. "Look, okay, the point is that this isn't me and I'm the only one who lives here and uses my Wi-Fi, so there must be a mix-up on your end, because I'm not going to jail for infringement, and especially not for books I've never even _heard_ of."

"I understand you feel frustrated, Ms. Mitchell, but as I see from the notes on your previous calls to customer service, we've had numerous techs look into this discrepancy. They all assure us that it is definitely coming from your Wi-Fi and IP address, and if you're the only one with access, then we're afraid it must be you." Denise's voice had become only minutely less accommodating.

"But it's not me! I'm not a doctor, I don't care about medicine or anatomy!"

"We apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Mitchell, but there's nothing we can do on our end."

Beca groaned. "Okay, I want to speak to a manager. Anybody who can do something to help me."

Denise seemed to know that this was coming. "Of course, I'll connect you to Jesse, he's the current manager on duty."

"Thank you," Beca managed to say relatively calmly. Then her eyes widened. "Wait, no, please don't-"

"Please hold!" Denise called cheerfully.

"-put me on hold," Beca sighed. She glanced down at her phone's call timer. _2:37:16_. "Lord kill me now."

_**Three days later**_

Beca leaves her apartment hurriedly, fumbling with her keys in the hallway to lock her door, when she notices her next-door neighbour leaving as well. She's got red hair, a nice double-breasted trench-coat-type jacket that accentuates the lines of her body, and a shoulder bag that seems to be bursting at the seams.

The neighbour is just locking up as Beca starts down the hall to the elevator, pushing the button three times in slight agitation since she's like, definitely going to be late.

"Hi!" A cheery voice calls out, accompanied with footsteps behind her.

"Hi." Beca says flatly.

"Nice to meet you, 8D," the stranger continues.

"Sure, you too, 8F," Beca replies, wishing the elevator would hurry up.

"I'm Chloe," she laughs, "and you are?"

"Very late," Beca says gruffly, but regrets it when she can feel the excitement deflate from her companion. "Sorry. I'm Beca."

Chloe perks right back up. "Nice to meet you!"

Luckily, the elevator arrives, and they shuffle inside. Beca finally spends more than a cursory second looking over her neighbour. Peeking out from underneath the woman's coat is a laminated card.

"What's that?" Beca asks, gesturing at it.

"Oh!" Chloe exclaims, "that's my ID card for the hospital."

Beca raises an eyebrow. "You're a doctor?"

Chloe nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, well, I mean, I'm in residency right now, just finishing up med school, but technically I am, yes."

Beca's blood runs cold and she presses the emergency stop button.

Her voice is low and, honestly, a little menacing. "I don't suppose one of your textbooks is _Goldman's Cecil Medicine_?"

Chloe visually swallows hard.

"Oh…"

"God, do you know how long I spent on the phone with the fucking Internet company trying to get them to fix whatever glitch in their system was so insistent on me being at all into medicine?!"

"I'm sorry," Chloe murmurs weakly, a little too breathy.

Beca barely keeps herself from growling. "Did you hack into it? How did you do it? Can you stop?"

"I didn't hack it, no," Chloe squeaks out.

"YOU'RE THE ASSHOLE WHO'S BEEN USING MY WI-FI, YOU COULD AT LEAST TELL ME HOW," Beca yells, then winces. "Sorry. Wait, no, why am I apologizing. God."

"I used the password!" Chloe admits.

Beca furrows her brow. "How do you know the password?"

Chloe shrugs. "I mean it wasn't all that difficult. You named it using lyrics from the song, so it wasn't hard to guess your password was 'Titanium.' You should probably change that, by the way."

"No one but you has been stealing it!" Beca huffs. Then blinks. "You know David Guetta?"

Chloe laughs, and presses the stop button again to get the elevator moving. "What, have I been living under a rock? That song is my jam." She pauses, like she's evaluating the situation. The elevator dings. "My lady jam," Chloe specifies, and then with a little wave calls, "Toodles!" as she leaves.

Beca just stands there, dumbstruck, looking after her.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. When she pulls it out, she glances at the time. "Fuck." She sighs, composing herself. "Hello, this is Beca Mitchell… Yes, I know I'm late. I'm on my way."

When she gets back home that evening she changes her Wi-Fi name and password, wanting to see if Chloe listens to La Roux, too.


End file.
